


Work Holiday

by KaiserKittenWalzer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexy Times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaiserKittenWalzer/pseuds/KaiserKittenWalzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz is placed on leave after the incident at the bottom of the ocean.  His recovery hasn't been going well, and Coulson decides to remove him from active duty after several disruptive outbursts.  Struck by grief and anger over what happened to him, Fitz finds comfort in Mack, who has taken it upon himself to try and help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knocks

Fitz stood in front of the refrigerator with his hand resting on the handle. He paused as his glazed, hollow eyes stared well through and beyond the white, matte appliance that stood there too, just as still.

He preferred the cleanness of metal appliances, and the cheapness of the thing in front of him offended him irrevocably. It was part-and-parcel of the tiny apartment into which he'd been cast: a catastrophe of horrid white stucco walls, and floors carpeted in something which resembled the color of uncooked brown rice.  
_Why did they put me here?_ He asked himself, as his grip tightened around the refrigerator handle.

He was bothered. A lot of things bothered him, but this- a refrigerator, innocent as any appliance could be, was able to evoke such an intense frustration in him. What was more, he realized in a fit of self-awareness that all this had nothing to do with a refrigerator, but in spite of it, the realization led him to fling the door open with a violent jerk.

Fitz shook his head in dismay as he peered inside the frigid box. _Stocked_. Agent Coulson had, of course, seen to it that it was completely stocked. It had everything he could have wanted really. Most importantly of all, it had everything he needed to construct his favorite sandwich: pesto, aioli, mozzarella di bufala, and prosciutto.

 _I don't even want one_ , he thought, as he closed the horrid, white monstrosity.

He turned towards the door of the small apartment at the sound of a knock.

“Who is it?” Fitz asked, in a voice mixed with annoyance and weariness.

A muffled voice from outside responded:  
“It's Mack.”

Fitz glanced down at his watch. He rolled his eyes, suddenly remembering. He shouldn't have had to ask; Mack had said he'd be around at noon.

Fitz opened the door. “Hey buddy,” Mack said,

The sullen engineer managed a curt, "Hey," in reply.

“How you doin'?” asked Mack, as he followed him into the apartment, watching as Fitz plopped himself onto the couch. Mack didn't need to ask, of course.

“How much longer do I have to stay here?” asked Fitz abruptly.

“What do you mean, _have to stay here?_ ” asked Mack, glancing back at the entryway, “The lock's on this side of the door, not on the other.”

“I mean how long am I going to be on leave from work?” asked Fitz.

“Well,” said Mack, “Agent Coulson felt it was important for you to get some rest and relaxation, and believe me, we'd love to have sent you some place a little more exotic than Providence, but obviously circumstances don't really permit it.”

  
“I suppose you've come to play video games with me to help re-develop my...” Fitz paused.  
“Coordination?” Mack asked.  
“Yes,” Fitz replied, sounding annoyed.  
“Well actually, I thought I'd come by so we could play video games and just hang out,” Mack said, turning on the Playstation.

“Don't tell me you actually want to be here. I may be useless, but I still haven't descended into the bowels of complete idiocy,” Fitz spat.  
“You're far from an idiot, Fitz. But if you don't believe me when I say I actually want to hang out with you, then I will at least tell you that you're wrong.”  
“I don't like being wrong,” Fitz responded automatically.  
“I know,” said Mack, sitting down and handing him a controller, “So let's pretend you didn't say something so incredibly foolish. I won't tell if you won't.”  
“Hmmm,” Fitz muttered, as he positioned his fingers on the buttons of his controller.


	2. Sammich

“Ha!” Fitz exclaimed, throwing his controller to the side in excitement. The unnaturally uninhibited display freed up his hands, which suspended themselves in the air in a moment of victory.

“That was pretty good,” Mack said.

“If that was pretty good, then what does that make you?” Fitz asked, high off beating his opponent in a 3-0 SoulCalibur match.

Mack looked over at the enthusiastic youth, “Don't get too cocky,” he said with a grin.

“How couldn't I? I trounced you. That was flawless,” Fitz bragged.

Mack looked at him with one eyebrow raised no farther from the heavens than Jesus himself. “And the two matches before?” he asked, recalling how he'd won with no problem.

“I was...”

“You were…?” Mack began, searching for a plausible end to the sentence.

“Don't,” said Fitz, suddenly vexed.

“Okay.” Mack raised his own hands in the air this time, though they were raised somewhat more timidly, lofted in a cautious surrender rather than a victory.

“Maybe I'll make some of your favorite sandwiches for us,” Mack suggested.

“Even if I wanted my favorite sandwich, how would you know there were ingredients to make said sandwich in this apartment?” Fitz asked suspiciously.

“Because I helped stock the fridge,” Mack replied in an unamused tone.

Fitz paused, “You did?”

“Mhmmm...” Mack confirmed, “And also, you're always in the mood for a sandwich. Bitch, please. Don't tell me you aren't.”

Fitz seemed to think for a moment before relenting to the offer, “Alright.”

“Play single-player while I get this,” Mack said, as he pushed himself off the couch.

A quarter of an hour passed as Fitz was mashing away at the controller, desperately fighting the computer for domination of a cage match. He heard Mack's voice from behind,

“I'm putting some romaine lettuce up in these to give them some green.”

“Pesto is green,” Fitz said over his shoulder as he fought to the digital end.

“And so is romaine, and you're getting both, so I guess it's your lucky day,” Mack responded with a voice soaked in sarcasm.

“It's superfluous, and will distract from an already perfect sandwich.”

“It'll add texture and nutrients!” Mack shouted, making Fitz jump up ever-so-slightly from the couch, as he continued to hit buttons. “Lettuce is 96% water! I don't know who puts water on a sandwich, but fine!” He shouted back.

A minute later, Fitz had lost. It had been close, but his Kilik was no match for Ivy. “Damn,” he swore, placing the controller to the side.

“It was a good fight,” said Mack, who was putting two plates down on the kitchen table.

“Not good enough, apparently,” responded Fitz, who got up at the sound of Mack pulling out a chair for him.

Mack sat down in his own seat, “If it were so easy to win every game, what would be the point of playing?”

“It _would_ make it rather boring,” Fitz conceded.  
“And you don't like boring, do you?”  
“No, of course not.”

Fitz bit into his sandwich, slightly embarrassed at the realization that Mack was watching him. He avoided eye contact as he chewed, with the exception of a couple furtive glances up at the man suddenly making him extremely self-conscious. He put the sandwich down, his hand covering his mouth. Mack wore a sly grin.

“How is it?” Mack asked.

“It's not bad,” Fitz admitted, “But it could use less romaine… as in none at all.”

Mack let out a laugh as he shook his head.

“And I know what you did,” Fitz continued.

“What's that?” Mack asked, suddenly sounding serious.

“You added pickled onions,” said Fitz, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, you picked up on that?” Mack asked.

“Of course I did, Mack, they're bloody pickled onions!” Fitz responded, before lowering his voice, “And they can stay."  
He cleared his throat before adding, "Well played," and he picked up the rest of the baguette.


	3. Tension

“ _You shall have a fishy on a little dishy, you shall have a fishy, when the boat comes in_ ,” crooned Fitz as he scrubbed himself, enveloped in steam.

He thought he heard a noise just as he was stepping out of the shower and into a towel that he quickly wrapped around his waist. Another noise. Fitz reached into the drawer by the bathroom mirror, still fogged from all the steam. He pulled out his icer, and made his way, gun in the air, towards the bathroom door.

Just as he was about to open it, a soft knock came, but Fitz didn't dare reach for the handle. The knob turned and the door opened just a crack. Fitz leveled the gun, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Jesus, Turbo, it's just me,” came an anxious voice from beyond the door.

Fitz lowered the icer, and placed it on the sink counter. “Oh, sorry,” he said, pulling the door open.

“Everything alright?” asked Mack.

“Yeah, just on edge.”

“Well I guess that's understandable, considering Hydra's penchant for taking our bases by surprise,” Mack said, as his eyes ran over Fitz's slender, pale body.

“Exactly,” said Fitz, apparently oblivious, “And I apologize,” he said, putting out his hand, beckoning Mack out towards the living room.

 

Fitz followed him out until Mack sat on the couch and Fitz suddenly realized he was standing in front of him, covered only by his towel. “Excuse me,” he said, “I'm just going to go change into something more appropriate.”

“You don't have to,” Mack said.

“No, I really think I should,” said Fitz, his cheeks blushing.

Mack got off the couch. “Why don't you lie down here,” he said, gesturing towards the now vacant sofa.

“Why?” Fitz asked, backing away cautiously.

“I thought I'd give you a massage,” Mack said, cracking his knuckles, “You seem tense, and besides, you've already got the towel part down.”

Fitz laughed, wagging his finger, “I see what you're doing.”

“But you're not going to say no, are you?” Mack said, asking a question that was not-at-all a question.

“I...” Fitz didn't know what to say next.

“Come over here,” Mack said, and Fitz obeyed almost immediately.

“Now lie down.”

Fitz felt so vulnerable lying on his stomach, his arms crossed, just under his forehead. He felt Mack's powerful fingers reach down deep into his shoulder blades.

“A knot there,” he heard Mack say seriously, as if he were diagnosing something. Then, he moved his hands up to the top of Fitz's shoulders, and began to rub them softly. Fitz let out a sigh as he let his eyes close. He hadn't realized the tension he'd stored up until Mack's hands found all of it locked away inside his muscles, keeping them tight and on edge, just as he'd been feeling inside.

“You're beautiful, you know,” Mack said softly.

He felt Fitz's body tremble from a sharp laugh.

“No I'm not,” Fitz said dismissively.

Mack kept rubbing his shoulders, “You just won't believe it, will you?”

“No,” said Fitz, suddenly feeling a bit better they'd both decided to disagree.

Fitz felt Mack's fingers curve gently around his ribs as Mack's thumbs worked down his spine.

“That feels so nice,” Fitz said.

“Well, let's get to that knot first before you start doling out the praise,” Mack said. He playfully slapped Fitz's toweled arse.

“Oi!” Fitz squealed, and Mack chuckled, returning his hands to his back and reaching in to work on his shoulder blades.

As his fingers began to massage the knot, and Fitz started to feel a sore hurt build, he awoke, and looked groggily all around his bedroom.

_Only something so good could happen in a dream_ , he thought  gloomily . _ He's been gone on that damned mission, but I'll bet _ _ he'll be back soon.  _ _ It's only been a few days, after all. _Yes_ , he'll definitely be back soon.  _ _ Maybe in the meantime I can find a way to  _ _ broach the subject when he gets here. _


	4. A Visit

But Mack was not back so soon, at least according to Fitz's understanding of the word. It would be another week before he returned to Providence base in Canada. The trip to Abu Dhabi had been exhausting- meeting after meeting, trying to build a S.H.I.E.L.D. presence once again in that part of the world.

Mack went straight to Fitz's apartment once he'd unpacked. He let himself in, and then, seeing no one in the living room, proceeded towards the back. Mack stepped into Fitz's bedroom after his knock at the door met with only a faint “Come in.” It was quite dark, a single desk lamp providing the only light in the place. “What's goin' on, Turbo?” he asked the other agent, who was lying on the bed on his side, his back facing Mack.

Mack approached at the lack of a response and peered over Fitz. His eyes grew wide. “I, uh... I see you got a cat. That's pretty cool.”

Fitz gave no response as he stared at the creature nestled against him while he petted it softly. Fitz continued to ignore Mack as he whispered to the cat, “When you die, I'm going to entomb myself with you, so we can both enter the afterlife together.”

“O…..kay then,” Mack said, as he grabbed a hold of Fitz's shoulder, rolling him over, away from the kitten.

“How are you doing today?” Mack asked, as he glanced anxiously over at the furry ball still curled up where it was.

“I'm fine,” Fitz said, sounding anything but.

Mack patted the top of the bed, “Why don't we go out into the living room?”

Fitz's clenched mouth moved sideways, considering the proposal.

“Alright.”

Fitz followed Mack out and decided to sit down on the loveseat as Mack had taken it upon himself to lie all the way across the larger of the two sofas.  The very fact he lay there resuscitated the memory of Fitz's dream.  _It should be me laying on that sofa_ , he thought.  Mack hadn't said a word, but was staring up at the ceiling.  Fitz was used to being the quiet one, other people started the conversation, not him, and Mack's lack of engagement put him on edge.

“Isn't the one in therapy supposed to be the one on the couch?” Fitz blurted sarcastically.

“I wouldn't know the proper protocol for that,” said Mack, “I'm not a therapist.”

“Then what the hell is this?” Fitz asked balling his hand into a fist over and over.

“I thought it was a social call,” Mack said.

“You've been gone an awfully long time,” said Fitz, “With no word, I might add.”

“We're not in a relationship,” Mack laughed, suddenly.

Fitz paused a moment, before jumping right in, “When you do something like what I did for Simmons...”

“Oh, _now_ it's a therapy session,” Mack said, this time the one effusing sarcasm.

“Shut up,” said Fitz sharply, before continuing,“I don't understand how I could do something so selfless for Simmons and then she could just leave.”

“Do you feel abandoned by her?” Mack asked.

“By her? By everyone,” Fitz said, starting to tear up. He reached for a tissue on the side table.

“And you wouldn't believe me if I told you that no one's abandoned you?”

“Of course I wouldn't. Look what I've been relegated to,” Fitz said, gesturing around the small apartment.

'”They wouldn't have you here if they didn't want to keep you on,” Mack reassured him.

“It's more like some kind of mercy project… a gesture of pity,” Fitz responded, brushing off Mack's observation.

“No, you keep on doing good work. You're an amazing asset to our team,” Mack reassured him, “And, you know you're more than just your job, don't you? You know people value you for being you, Fitz?”

“That's not true,” Fitz protested, “That's all they care about.”

“Give me one example,”

“I wanted to call it the Night-Night Gun, and Ward shot it down immediately. I invented the bloody thing, I should be able to name it. He refused, but of course, he was happy to use it, and order me along to the next project.”

“Well, I mean to be fair, Ward is kind of an asshole,” Mack replied.

Fitz looked up from the floor, eyes bloodshot, “Don't say that about my friend.”

“Didn't he try to kill you?” asked Mack before pausing and asking incredulously, “And didn't you almost kill him?”

“If I had wanted to kill him, I would have,” said Fitz, “But, I'm not a killer, and he's fine. I was just teaching him a lesson.”

“Well,” Mack started, “The whole thing wasn't very appreciated by Coulson. And that's really the reason you're here, truth be told. You do fine work, but these kinds of things need to stop. The Ward incident was one thing. Coulson could understand that to a point, even if it wasn't acceptable. You should have learned your lesson though. It was completely foolish of you to do what you did to Coulson himself.

“Oh, you mean the sink incident?” Fitz asked.

Mack looked at him in disbelief, “Do you have to ask? Did you do anything else to him that would require me to clarify? Are there multiple incidences, Fitz?”

“No,” Fitz said defensively, “But... it was harmless. I was just tired of him coming in and using the laboratory sink to wash off his dirty hands after working on his stupid car. He should have more respect than that.”

“So you decided to smear potassium around the drain hole?” Mack asked, “That seemed appropriate to you?”

Fitz started cracking up, “You should have seen his face. I saw him working on Lola, and I knew, I just _knew_ he was going to wash his grimy paws in my pristine lab. And he did, and then the sink started smoking...” Fitz started laughing again, “And then little flames started shooting up, and he was like, 'Oh my god! What's happening?!?'”

Fitz continued to chuckle before calming down. He looked up at Mack, “What?” he asked innocently, “It was just a prank.”

“Pranks are things you reserve for your colleagues, not your boss,” Mack said, “He viewed it as you lashing out.”

“Oh,” said Fitz, suddenly looking disappointed.

“I also view it as lashing out,” Mack said, “You didn't used to do that stuff, and frankly, it's childish.”

“Simmons and I used to do that kind of stuff to one another,” said Fitz sounding nostalgic, before adding, “Things like the potassium, I mean.”

“But not nearly suffocating each other in a holding cell?” Mack added, unamused.

“I'm just….” Fitz's face scrunched as he searched.

“Frustrated?” Mack asked.

Fitz gave a gasp as if he'd forgotten to breathe while concentrating, “Yes, frustrated,” he confirmed.

“How long's it been since you've been with a woman?” Mack asked suddenly.

Fitz shrugged his shoulders, “Never.”

Mack stared at him a moment.

“A man?”

Fitz squirmed, seeing his chance, “A while,” he admitted, hoping to open the subject up with that.

“Hmmm...” Mack muttered, as he looked over at the video game controllers, “Maybe we should play.” He started to get up.

“Is that why you're here?” Fitz asked suddenly, seizing it like a do-or-die moment, “Are you here because you haven't been with a man in a while either?”

Mack laughed, “I'm straight, but I am flattered,” he said, as he grabbed the controllers and started the system.

Fitz looked forlorn as he stared at the controller Mack tossed him.

“I'm sorry,” Fitz said, sounding ashamed.

“Don't worry about it buddy,” Mack said, “The heart wants what it wants, but that's not my cup of tea.”

“Gotcha,” he whispered as he hit the controller's start button. Then, Fitz summoned up the courage to add, “First to win the match makes the sandwiches."

“You got it, Turbo.”


End file.
